Uneven Parallels
by AnabelleG
Summary: Paired his and her chapters that explore key points in the individual timelines of B&B as their 'parallel' paths bring them together. Begins in midlate teen years. Rated T due to events related to Brennan's time in foster care.
1. Knew What That Meant: Her Story

**Uneven Parallels**

**A/N: **The idea behind this story was to explore the paths that brought Brennan and Booth together, by focusing on key points in their lives. The plan is to have paired chapters from her life and then his. For clarification, the paired chapters are not meant to be concurrent, but from the same general point on their individual timelines.

* * *

**Knew What That Meant: Her Story**

The girl heard the thunk of the car door closing and flinched. She was familiar with the sound and knew what it meant. It meant she was on her own again.

With a heavy sigh, she reached down and wrapped her hand around the knot at the top of the black plastic garbage bag. It didn't take a lot of effort to lift it from the warped wooden slats of the porch. There wasn't much in there to weigh it down.

She looked over at the slab-faced woman standing next to her, but knew better than to say anything. That was a lesson she'd learned pretty quickly about the new ones. The woman waited until the social worker's car disappeared around the corner before turning colorless eyes to her newest charge.

"I'm only gonna say this once, missy. Don't even think about givin' me any of the trouble that state lady just warned me about."

The woman moved closer, bringing her face with inches of the girl's. "Understand me?"

Struggling not to gag at the foul mixture of coffee, cigarettes and onions on the woman's breath, the girl could only nod. She wasn't surprised when she felt the sting of a slap against her arm. It was the way some of them taught you the new rules.

"You speak when I ask you somethin', got it?"

The woman eyes traveled the girl's face, almost eager to see some spark of rebellion.

Working to get just the right balance of respect and submission in her voice, the girl finally replied.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Hmmphh. Well, come on then. I'll introduce you to the mister and then we can get you set up with some chores. You're gonna work for your keep 'round here."

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman seemed both satisfied and disappointed by how quickly this one seemed to be falling into line. She walked heavy-footed past the open screen door and into the house, never bothering to look back at the girl. If she knew what was good for her, missy would be hot-footing it right behind her.

"What kinda name is that anyway? Temper-ance. Sounds kinda uppity to me. You ain't uppity are you, young'n?"

"No, ma'am."

* * *

Temperance turned on the thin mattress, wincing as the slight movement caused her aching muscles to protest. The woman hadn't been lying about making her earn her keep. She'd worked enough in one day to earn room and board for herself and the other three fosters in the house. Feeling herself getting angry, she closed her eyes and quickly tamped down the emotion.

Anger was an indulgence that wouldn't help her in this place.

* * *

Later, that night, she kept her eyes closed when she felt the weight pulling down the mattress at her side and the cloying scent of his cheap aftershave invaded her sinuses. She'd known that this was inevitable after seeing the way his oily eyes had examined her.

She could only hope that this one would be like the last one and only touch.

"Now there's no need to tell the missus about this, right sweetheart?"

As he talked, she tried not to shudder at the touch of his warm breath against the skin of her neck.

But she didn't forget the rules either.

"No, sir."


	2. Knew What That Meant: His Story

**His Story:Knew What That Meant.**

The young man heard the thunk of the closing car door and smiled with anticipation. He recognized the sound and knew what it meant. It meant the guys were here and it was time to get moving.

With a little laugh, he reached and wrapped his hand around the strap of the canvas backpack. It took more than a little effort to lift it from the neat red brick step that it had been resting on. His mother had packed for him, and he wasn't surprised that she'd tried to prepare him for every contingency.

He looked over at the sweet face of the woman standing next to him, but knew better than to say anything. That was a lesson he'd learned pretty quickly with the emotional moments. The woman waited until she had her tears under control before turning soft brown eyes to look at her youngest son.

"I'm only gonna say this once more, son . Please be careful out there, okay?" The woman moved closer, bringing her face with inches of the his. "Do you understand?"

Comforted by the familiar scent of lavender and vanilla she'd used since he was a child, he could only smile . He wasn't surprised when he felt her arms closed around him in a tight hug. It was just her way of showing that she loved him.

"Do you promise me?"

The woman stepped back, her eyes traveling his face, looking for reassurance that she didn't need to worry about him.

Keeping respect and understanding in his voice, he replied with a smile.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, okay then. Let me go inside and get those oatmeal raisin cookies that I made for you and then we will get you boys on the road. You're going to have a lot of hard work when you get to that boot camp place."

"Yes, ma'am."

Watching him drive away with his friends, the woman seemed both proud and saddened by how quickly he had grown into such a fine young man. She walked slowly into the house, determined not to look back at the empty street. She knew if she did that she would want to start crying again.

"My sweet Seeley. Please don't let them change you."

* * *

Seeley turned on the thin mattress, wincing as the slight movement caused his aching muscles to protest. His mother had been right about how hard boot camp was going to be. It had only been one day and he already felt like he had been running for three. Feeling himself getting nostalgic for home, he closed his eyes and quickly tamped down the emotion.

Being homesick was an indulgence that wouldn't help him in this place.

* * *

Later, that night, he wanted to kept his eyes closed when he felt the weight slam down the mattress at his side and the cloying scent of cheap aftershave invaded his sinuses. He'd known that this was inevitable after seeing the way the sargeant's stern eyes had mocked him earlier.

He could only hope that this one would be like the others and only yell.

"Now there's an obtacle course out there with your name written all over it. Am I right, mama's boy?"

As the man yelled, he tried not to shudder at the thought of crawling through the mud in the middle of the night.

But he didn't forget the rules either.

"No, sir."


	3. Looking for Safety: Her Story

_Many thanks for the kind reviews...truly appreciated. This is the first of the next pair in the series...a little more angst, but I promise that things will be looking up for both of them soon. -Ana_

* * *

**Her Story: Looking for Safety**

She could hear the harsh rattle of her breath in her throat as she ran, felt the strain of her lungs to capture even more air as she pushed herself to continue. She thought she heard the sound of heavy footfalls behind her, but didn't take to the time to determine if they were real or the product of increasing panic. The only thing that mattered now was willing a surge of adrenaline to her burning muscles so that she could increase the distance between herself and hell.

If they caught her, if they found her and sent her back, she knew she wouldn't survive.

Consumed by the sense of being hunted, she didn't see the thick, gnarled tree root that had buckled the sidewalk ahead. One wrong move and the toe of her battered sneaker met protruding concrete. In an instant, she was bent over the sidewalk, the pain of the impact radiating through her wrists and knees.

Operating on instinct, she turned her head to look at the street behind her, darting eyes searching the shadows. Seeing nothing but an irregular line of dented and rusted garbage cans, she allowed herself a single moment of relief. It was the first since she had crawled through that window, the sound of fists pounding on the barricaded door ringing in her ears.

The sharp stinging of her abraided palms cut the moment short, reminding her of the urgency of the situation. She gingerly rose to her feet, suppressing a groan as her bruised knees straightened. The pain was quickly forgotten as she noticed the canvas bag near her feet, saw her possessions spilling from a large tear in the fabric.

In seconds, she was on the sidewalk again, gathering the scattered objects. A thin t-shirt. A pair of her mother's earrings carefully wrapped in a small piece of plastic. A photograph of the family she'd lost. She held them all against her thin frame with one hand as the other frantically searched for the rest of her meager belongings. Tears threatened when she couldn't find the one thing that mattered more than any of the others. It was the only thing that would allow her to survive her own escape.

When her hand closed around the tightly compacted roll of paper and registered the texture of the twisted rubber band beneath her fingers, the sense of being spared was so intense that she found herself whispering a prayer of gratitude.

The sense of gratitude was replaced by shame as she looked down at the roll of cash she held in her hand. When she'd stolen it from the mister's room, she'd known it was the key to her jail. But the lessons taught by a now phantom family were still with her, and she felt guilt for her crime even while acknowledging that it had been committed against her jailer.

The guilt survived until she noticed the blood still oozing from scrapes on her torn palm. The fact that the lack of light robbed it of its vibrant red did nothing to lessen its significance. She felt something deep inside break loose and hide itself away and a steely resolve take its place.

That monster had not earned the right to her guilt. Hatred maybe, but not guilt.

He hadn't stopped with touching.

* * *

Temperance rested her head against the oversized window, exhaustion dulling the blue of her eyes. The flat landscape passed by unnoticed. She'd chosen to focus instead on finding patterns in the gray trails of dried window cleaner left behind by whoever had last cleaned the bus. She had been forced into a retreat to the mundane, her mind overwhelmed with the journey required to ensure safety.

* * *


	4. Looking for Safety: His Story

**His Story: Looking for Safety**

He could hear the harsh rattle of his breath in his throat as he ran, felt the strain of his lungs to capture even more air as he pushed himself to continue. He thought he heard the sound of heavy footfalls behind him, but didn't take time to determine if they were real or the product of increasing panic. The only thing that mattered now was willing a surge of adrenaline to his burning muscles so that he could increase the distance between himself and hell.

If they caught him, if they captured him and took him back, he knew he wouldn't survive.

Consumed by the sense of being hunted, he didn't see the thick, ropy vine that had grown over the muddy pathway. One wrong move and the toe of his leather boot caught in a twisted loop. In an instant, he was face down in the mud, the pain of the impact radiating through his wounded shoulder.

Operating on instinct, he turned his head to search the landscape behind him, darting eyes searching thick foliage. Seeing nothing but an irregular line of gnarled tree trunks rising from thick mud, he allowed himself a single moment of sorrow. It was the first since he had crawled from the window, the wails of woman finding herself a new widow sounding the alarm behind him.

The throbbing pain of the knife wound cut the moment short, reminding him of the urgency of the situation. He quickly rose to his feet, suppressing a curse as his torn shoulder flexed. The pain was quickly forgotten as he noticed the canvas bag near his feet, saw his gear spilling from a large tear in the fabric.

In seconds, he was in the mud again, gathering the scattered objects. A spare clip. A tarnished St. Christopher medal carefully wrapped in a small piece of plastic. A map of the terrain he had to travel. He held them all against his chest with one hand as the other methodically searched for the rest of his supplies. His breath stopped when he couldn't find the one thing that mattered more than any of the others. It was the reason that he'd forced himself to commit the sin the mission required.

As his hand fell on the cover of the deceptively thin book and registered the texture of the embossed seal beneath his fingers, the memory of his actions was so intense that he found himself whispering a plea for forgiveness.

The sense of sorrow was joined by shame as he looked down at the stolen codebook he held in his hand. When he'd killed in order to obtain it, he'd known it was the key to safety for many. But the lessons taught by a now distant family were still with him, and he felt guilt for his sin even while acknowleding that it had been committed in the name of the country he loved.

The guilt increased when he noticed the blood that stained the creases in his palm. The fact that the lack of light robbed it of its vibrant red did nothing to lessen its significance. He felt something deep inside break loose and hide itself away as a heavy weight took its place.

That man had not expected to die for this small book. Fight maybe, but not die.

But he wouldn't stop fighting.

* * *

Seeley rested his head against the concave window, sadness dulling the brown of his eyes. The green landscape below passed by unnoticed. He'd chosen to focus instead on finding rhythms in the dull thump of helicopter blades carrying him away from the death he'd left behind. He had been forced into a retreat to the mundane, his mind overwhelmed with the sacrifices required to ensure safety.

* * *


End file.
